Do I Look Like A Prostitute?

Week 4 Post-Brahmacharya

I have a date with the Brazilian tonight. He has a ticket to see a singer from the favelas and he says I can “pay him back with drinks, kisses or back scratching.”

The fact that I even have to “pay him” digs into my orange chakra issues. I feel like a prostitute. Or maybe he is like a prostitute. There is a transaction happening here now rather than “just sharing love.”

So I am giving him a Bon Voyage card with the money for the ticket inside. I don’t want to owe anyone anything ever again. Balance. That was part of this mission, too. To restore balance.

I wake up next to the Patent Lawyer. He has classics in his bookcase. I read the opening of Don Quixote. Just the Table of Contents is a work of art.

If I want access to his brain, I have to give him access to my … What? I don’t even know what to call it. But this means I am acting like a prostitute. Right? I am not interested in marriage and children. I am interested in being his friend. But he doesn’t want to be just friends. He doesn’t see women as friends – especially ones that look like me. I am to be fucked and tolerated.

I attend an Ultimate Fighting Championship with the gym teacher. It makes me think of The Femmebots Fighting Championships: Left Brain vs. Right Brain in a battle for power.

Terrell Hobbs is the dark destroyer. He waits for his opponent to wobble and then in one swoop he hooks his arm under the wobbler and slams him to the ground. The Brazilian jiu jitsu trained opponent has no chance now under the dark destroyer’s focused wrestling pin.

It is exhilarating to watch a person in their dharma. It is clear when a fighter was born to be inside the ring, using the unique talents God gave him to make his living. We all come here in these different costumes and we must figure out how best to use them for survival.

James Funaro from Strong Island (Comack, where I used to go to watch movies), looks like a little suburban boy next to the bald man but looks are deceiving. Funaro torpedoes into his opponent and takes him to the ground.

I am no match for men. They take me down in one swoop. I let my guard down. Why? Because I want the attention? Because I am lonely? Because I want a companion in life? Can’t be that last one. If I wanted that I wouldn’t go straight for the sex.

My left brain tells me to let the Patent Lawyer go. My right brain tells me to hold on because he is a major character in the story. He told me yesterday that methods are patented. Products (like software) are copyrighted.

I wake up feeling the story is coming to an end and a new beginning is about to unfold. It worries me and excites me all the same. There are so many details to refine. I pull out my suitcase to start packing my things. I only have two weeks left here. And then I am moving to my next home for the next nine months.